Helen

Your manner always myriad, where a life is blown, unlike mine let it be said, never mean she brings the sea, an artist bright unknown, for this old has been, if in danger of losing cred, you cry don't frown, I'll see you less, I never leave this street, and cannot pray for calm, she shakes her keys, with lipstick instead, her skin golden brown, she lights my bed, a loving need, for what is known, no sense of ease stamps her feet, our daily bread, is warm as toast, you who lightly tread, down this path alone.